


Mikado

by Ailette



Category: Primeval
Genre: Dreams, Imported, M/M, Post 2.07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-02
Updated: 2009-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 05:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6691864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ailette/pseuds/Ailette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 2.07; Nick has to cope with his dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mikado

“Are you sure?” Nick asked as he stared at the bright blue box with the cartoon-esque figures and their straw hats on it, only looking up briefly to catch a glimpse of Stephen who nodded solemnly and took the package from Nick’s hands.

“Absolutely. You should choose your position,” he advised and sat himself down cross-legged on the small fluffy red cushion on the ground.

Nick grinned at the serious tone, but did as he was told. He wondered briefly why his cushion seemed smaller than Stephen’s, but then just shrugged and watched as his friend bundled the pick-up-sticks before he let them fall in one graceful circular motion. The huddle of striped sticks looked a bit fuzzy at first and Nick blinked to clear his vision. When he opened his eyes again, three orange striped sticks lay before Stephen and his friend looked at him expectantly.

“It’s your turn,” he pointed out helpfully with a small smile that was impossible not to return.

As Nick concentrated on placing his index fingers on either end of one of the black and yellow coloured sticks on the rickety top, a stray thought about their circumstances entered his mind.

“We’ve never played Mikado before.” He was so surprised to hear his own voice say it out loud that he nearly let the  _Mandarin_ fall down.

“Yeah. Shame, too. There’s so much space in here,” Stephen said wistfully and Nick took the time to glance around, remembering that they were in their now empty office at university. The different soothing brown shades seemed to glow from within themselves and again Nick blinked to clear the haze. 

“What’s with the light?” he turned back to ask his assistant, but Stephen was busy throwing up another stick and easily grabbing it out of the air as it hurtled skywards. “Hey,” Nick protested meekly. “It’s still my turn.”

Stephen’s eyebrows nearly vanished into his fringe at the exclamation, eyes wide in surprise and mouth slightly opened. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize,” he apologized with another blinding smile and for some reason Nick started chuckling at the overplayed reaction, not minding the broken rules anymore. 

“You don’t smile enough,” he told Stephen instead and mirrored it with one of his own.

Stephen shrugged and handed Nick the _Bonzen_ he’d just taken up. “Sorry,” he said again. “I’ll try to change that.” But Nick nearly didn’t catch his last words as the fire alarm went off. 

“Oh, come on,” he muttered and was about to look for the source of smoke when he recognized the penetrating noise as something else.

With a loud and heartfelt grown Nick Cutter turned around in his bed and hit the alarm clock hard. The beeping immediately stopped and he was left in silence - barring the not so quiet chirping noises coming through his tilted windows. It was still early; the sun hadn’t even come up yet. Nick raked an arm across his face, encasing his eyes in complete darkness again. He didn’t want to see this world. Certainly not now and maybe not ever again. He felt exhausted to the very core, even though he’d slept for nearly ten hours straight and hadn’t really _done_ anything yesterday. It was the weekend, no anomalies appearing and no reports due. 

But it wasn’t like he didn’t know where the sore feeling came from. It was those dreams, every time he closed his eyes. He could remember a time when Helen would tease him about the fact that he was a practically dreamless sleeper. He’d wanted nothing more than a nice dream back then, since they helped him to get a good night's rest and put his mind at ease. They were a rare occurrence then. God, he wished for those times to return. There hadn’t been one night of peaceful sleep since… yes. Since Stephen had died right in front of him, sacrificing himself for Nick in a misplaced sense of loyalty and guilt. 

In the beginning, he’d dreamed about exactly that. Standing in front of a heavy metal door, with just a small window to impotently watch as his best friend was torn to pieces. Hearing those stomach churning noises and the short and agony-filled screams; all dulled by the barrier between them and yet still too loud, too close. It was all there, in Dolby surround and high definition; his very own worst nightmare.

Or so he’d thought. After a week of waking up soaked in sweat and burning throat and eyes, hands fisted into the bedding, his dreams suddenly changed. He would live through an ordinary day, everyday life really, with just one wonderful exception. Stephen was there. No explanation, no wondering about his presence. He was there and Nick was glad, so, so glad. He never knew why until after he woke up, everything seeming perfectly normal and reasonable while he slept. Tonight’s dream wasn’t all that different from the others; Stephen and him talking, enjoying themselves and even joking around a little in familiar places like the old office, on one of the archaeological excavation sites they’d been to together, the ARC or Nick’s house. As it always was in dreams, something was off and Nick knew it, but didn’t wonder about it too much before it slipped his mind again.

Those dreams seemed so much better, right? At least in them he was with Stephen again, no bitterness or resentment between them and just the luxury of knowing the other was there. Wrong. As soon as Nick woke up, he could feel the desperation clinging to his every thought, the hatred at his brain for showing him what he so badly desired but never could have again. It left him bone tired in a sense that he couldn’t remember ever feeling before. Those emotions of joy and happiness, he wanted them back. So badly. Every time he opened his eyes, he felt like crying, but no more tears would come. It was like his soul was slowly being sucked out of him in the night, leaving him dry and sometimes shaking with sadness. 

And all he could think was; it’s not fair. It’s not fair. I want this back. Please, God, I just want him back.

_ It’s not fair. _

**Author's Note:**

> (Originally posted at http://ailette.livejournal.com/40525.html)  
> Beta:fififolle  
> A/N: *sighs* Because I keep getting distracted and the angst had to go somewhere other than the Big Fic. Which is coming along nicely, btw. :) At least this time I also fulfilled one of my story_lottery prompts: #12 - Mikado. Four down, three to go!


End file.
